Poole, Dorset

With a few hours to kill before setting off to Cherbourg we once again walked along the beach. The pebbles massaged our feet as our eyes scanned the tide line for sea glass. The nearby church bells rung each quarter of an hour, ticking off our time left in France. At three o' clock we decided to begin our final journey. Marge had gotten us this far, and we didn't want to leave it to chance that she'd easily make it to Cherbourg, so we left earlier than was necessary.

Surprisingly, when we arrived at the port there were quite a few vehicles already waiting to check-in. All English. Apart from Bordeaux, we've hardly seen any other English vehicles whilst we'd been in France. The weather was overcast, which we didn't mind. It made it easier to accept we would now be back home in a few hours. Angela made the mistake of checking the weather on the Ile de Re. 19 c and sunny for ten next ten days. Turn around Marge! If only we could. As Marge was directed into place on the car ferry, it was with a heavy heart we accepted our time in France was over.

It had been a different holiday to the one we planned. Marge had tested us. But at the same time, we'd been able to spend over eight weeks in this fantastic country.

Even if we wanted to, we had no time to dwell. At eleven the next morning we had visitors arriving. As for Marge. Once she's been MOT'd, she'll undergo some work that will hopefully be minimal, not too expensive and effective, and we'll be able to report more of her antics to you again shortly.

For now, it's back to miserable, gloomy, cold, damp days and foraging. Yes, it's that time of the year again. Today John managed to fill his basket with hedgehog mushrooms, the first bounty of many this autumn. 

Barfleur, Normandy, France

Where have the last eight and a half weeks gone? Perhaps Marge can answer that! As we left the excellent campsite at Bayeax we embarked on the last long drive for Marge. Not that long really, just an hour and a half. But first the Intermarche supermarket to buy wine. Sparkling Cremant and reds from Bordeaux. Not cheap plonk, but half decent stuff for Christmas. Just twenty bottles in total, and two wine boxes. That should do it. Obviously, it wasn't all for Christmas time.

Our stop for tonight was Barfleur. A pretty little fishing village about twenty miles from Cherbourg.

The drive there along many miles of dual carriageway gave John the chance to open Marge up. Risky you might think. But no, she performed well.  A blizzard of falling leaves showered Marge, like confetti. Our ferry home tomorrow doesn't leave until six o' clock in the evening, so from now on we can just chill. All three of us. We wont leave Barfleur until mid afternoon as we do not want to park up in Cherbourg and leave Marge unattended. It's too risky with the migrants about. If we are stopped at border control when we reach Poole, which we nearly always are, whether in a van or on bicycles, they will ask where have you travelled, and have you left the vehicle unattended today on your way to the port? There is enough clearance under Marge for one of these people to hide, and we have a large roof box, albeit with four security locks. So there's a very good chance Marge will be pulled over. The van drivers are advised to remove the cover off of their bike rack, as this is the latest hiding place for these opportunists. This afternoon a walk along the shore, right in front of the Aire, for John to collect sea glass. 

Then a stop in the town for coffee with musical accompaniment Les Emplumes (click to visit their website and music). By six, darkness had almost fallen, the sky dramatic, orange and red like burning embers. This time tomorrow we will be on the ferry to Poole. Time to plan another trip away we think.

Bayeux, Normandy, France

It feels sad to know after tomorrow, we will be returning home. Yes, it will be nice to see our family, but homecoming also brings normality. Flu and covid jabs. Marge's MOT. Marge's repair. A fence to fix at one of our rentals. And hopefully a buyer for our house, from the viewing conducted today. This morning most of the vans left fairly early, as did we. But not before John cooked his omelette using the outside kitchen, this time with our French neighbour sat watching him in his underpants. The Frenchman, not John. A little unnerving, when you're trying to  break a couple of eggs. Soon Marge was powering along the fast road that led to the ports. Village after village flashed by with small stone churches, set on lush green grassland, and water logged fields of claggy soil. We have noticed a change in the weather these last couple of  days and yesterday evening we'd had our diesel heater running for the first time this trip, as we ventured north the weather had become a little cooler. Probably not a bad thing, we needed re-acclimatising for our return to England. Our early departure meant we'd be at Bayeux before twelve. The campsite receptions close at twelve, and don't reopen until around two, so if you don't make it in time you've lost the best part of the day.

Marge parked, in a rather nice spot near the facilities, we marvelled at the smart campsite with its manicured grass and neat borders. It was like staying in a park. And this was a three star municipal campsite. Municipal campsites are great value for money, but you never know what they will be like. This one was exceptional. Set on the outskirts of the town, a fifteen minute walk alongside the river delivered us right into the centre.

Where we had a walk around the city centre and cathedral.

We stopped for lunch at a little pizzeria, then had a walk around, visiting the cathedral and paying, yes paying to see the famous Bayeux tapestry.

Then Angela had to take what would probably be the last chance to have a gaufre, or goffer, as John calls them. That's a waffle by the way.

Ever since we used to sit outside the tourist office at La Flotte, on the Ile de Re watching people buying them from the kiosk opposite, she'd hankered after one. Today was the day. warm, sweet and sickly, but delicious. We are very close to Cherbourg now, and tomorrow morning will stop at the nearby supermarket to buy wine. And probably lots of it. Why not, a decent bottle of red will set you back around £3.50 and with Christmas not too far away it's an opportunity to splash out on a few really nice bottles.

Avranches, Normandy, France

The Aire this morning proved to be just the right location to see a fabulous sunrise. The lengthening sunlight lit the bay as fishing boats left the harbour and slipped through the golden waters.

We have been been lucky to have stayed in some beautiful places whilst we've been away. Met some lovely people, and seen some fantastic sights. This morning was just another one of those moments. We were away early, for us. Marge bowled happily along country roads that sliced through fields of rusty brown peppered with crumbling farm buildings from a time gone by. The trees that lined the road, a riot of colour. The first sighting of the Mont St. Michel never fails to impress. We saw it the second day we were in France, and now here we were enjoying its splendour once again. Sadly the whole area close to it has become one big tourist trap, and it's difficult to find somewhere to stop that's free to take a photograph.

But we managed it. All this stopping and starting, makes a day pass by quickly, and it was lunchtime when we reached the outskirts of Avranches where we stopped at a Decathlon shop for John to purchase a couple of pairs of trousers for the winter. Lunchtime is the best time to shop here, Besides us there were a few others including a couple of nuns. And why wouldn't there be? The Aire at Avranches is situated very near to the town, but it's not the best, with sloping ground and large bins for the local people to use. It was busy, and Marge is right by the bins. Luckily, the wind is blowing away from her. 

A walk up to the imposing church, built from granite, then a stroll around the town, stopping at the American war memorial.

The Americans liberated Avranches at the end of the second world war, and General Patton has certainly left his mark. Hotels, pizza restaurants, even a barbers bear his name. The flowers at the memorial were beautiful. Chrysanthemums, lined the path, a riot of colour that softened the stone and military hardware around the area.

November 1st is All Saints Day in France, and these flowers are to be seen everywhere, especially on memorials and in cemeteries. Returning to Marge, she was now one of ten vehicles. A fairly large French motorhome had squeezed in between her and the bins, thankfully. Just after six, the sun slipped towards the horizon, the sky turning orange, then, pink, then purple. Sat majestically in the fading light, the Mont St. Michel. As we said, it never fails to impress.